(My friend used to own a comic book store in the local mall. I am a tall goth girl and am leaning against a book case reading a Japanese graphic novel.)

Customer’s Young Son: *tries to reach for a comic on the top shelf*

Me: “Here you go!” *hands him the comic* “Batman is my favorite super hero.”

(The young boy’s father approaches.)

Customer: “What they H*** do you think you’re doing talking to my son?! You’re trying to possess him with your evil!”

Me: “I was handing him a book.”

Customer: “Don’t lie to me! You were trying to convert him to worshiping the devil!”

Owner: “Is there a problem?”

Customer: “How dare you let devil worshipers hang around in your store?! She was trying to convert my son with this devil bat comic!”

Owner: “She handed him the comic. That is all, sir.”

Customer: “Don’t lie to me! You’re one of them aren’t you? You’re both in a cult together!” *to his son* “Son, we never go near these people again, do you hear me? I’ll tell everyone this store is evil!”

Me: “Sir, I’m actually an atheist and am offended that you would make such blind accusations based on my appearance.”

Customer: “Don’t tell me how to raise my son! God hates you!”

Owner: “Sir, I would like you to get out of my store and never return.”

Customer: “I can enter here if I want. It’s a free country, and you HAVE to serve me!”

Owner: *calmly* “You’re right, it is a free country, and as the owner of this shop, I have the freedom to tell you to get the f*** out or I’ll call the police.”

Customer: *grabs his son and leaves hastily*

(A lady walks in with her eleven-year-old son. He is being very mouthy to her and mouthy to her friend that is with them. He even glares at me when I tell him he cannot eat out of our bulk candy bins. They finally come up to the counter to pay for their candy, but he is still saying horrible things to his mother. She is looking very upset by this point.)

Me: “Did you find everything okay?”

Customer’s Son: “Shut up!”

Me: “You know, if my son talked to me that way—”

Customer’s Son: “You’d what, b****?”

Me: “I’d probably hogtie him and throw him into his room.”

Customer: *laughs*

Customer’s Son: “B****, you wouldn’t be standing!”

Me: *laughing* “Oh? How you figure that?”

Customer’s Son: “Because you’re a woman, and women are weak.”

Customer: *to her son* “Oh, my God, are you serious?! You are NOT visiting your father anymore!”

Customer’s Son: *to me* “Now get me an Icee, b****.”

Me: “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure my weak woman’s hands can make it for you!”

Customer: *laughing, to me* “Thank you!” *to her son* “Now, let’s go. I’m not buying you anything!”

Me: “Have a nice day!”

Customer’s Son: *flips me off*

Customer: *smacks him*

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(This takes place in a small mom-and-pop gift store. I am about seven months pregnant.)

Customer: “Hey, you, girl! I need one of those games at the top of the shelf.”

Me: “Sure, no problem, sir. Just give me a moment to finish up here and I’ll grab it.”

Customer: “Well, hurry up!”

(The customer continues to mutter about me being useless. I go to grab the ladder when my coworker, who happens to be the owner’s son, sees this.)

Coworker: *to me* “Oh, hey… You don’t need to be on that ladder. I got it.”

Customer: *to my coworker* “What?! No, I asked her. Let her do it!”

Coworker: “Sir, it’s not safe for her to be up there right now.”

Customer: “YOU SHOULDN’T BE ACCOMMODATING TO FATTIES!”

(Note: the customer himself is extremely large.)

Coworker: “Sir, she’s pregnant, not fat.”

Customer: “Stupid b**** is just fat! You shouldn’t accommodate fatties! She’s just a fat b****! Make her do her job! STOP ACCOMMODATING THE FATTIES!”

Me: “Sir, I’m seven months pregnant, not fat, and if you continue to use vulgar language, I will have to ask you to leave.”

Customer: “You stupid b****! Do your d*** job, you stupid fat a**!”

Me: “I’m refusing you service. Please leave.”

Customer: “YOU CAN’T DO THAT! GET THAT D*** GAME! I PAY YOUR SALARY!”

(The owner, who has overheard the entire exchange, comes over.)

Owner: “Sir, you shouldn’t be carrying on and calling people fatties… especially pregnant women.”

Customer: “F*** YOU! I WANT TO TALK TO YOUR MANAGER!”

Owner: “I’ll do you one better: I own this store, and if I see you in my store again, I will have you arrested for trespassing. Oh, and NO, you don’t pay her salary. I do, and I plan to give her a big raise after this.”

Customer: “SCREW YOU! You can’t talk to me this way. I’m a paying customer!”

Coworker: “Hey, buddy, you just blow in from stupid town? You haven’t bought anything.”

Customer: “DON’T ACCOMMODATE FATTIES!”

(In his anger, he knocks a rack of merchandise over and hauls out of the store as fast as he can.)

Coworker: “I’m going to call the police.”

(The customer was arrested less than a block away, and I got a raise.)

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(We used to have a candy topping for a certain holiday drink. It was discontinued because people found it unpleasant. One customer went as far as to claim that a barista “must have dropped fried rice from their lunch into the drink.” There had been a minor incident over it, and the customer was outraged. This takes place the following year in the drive-thru.)

Coworker: “Hi, here’s your latte! Have a nice night.”

Customer: “Where’s the candied ginger from last year? I only ordered this because I wanted the ginger. I’m not going to enjoy my drink as much now!”

Coworker: “Well, we don’t use it anymore because people didn’t like it. Someone even insisted there was rice in their drink! Isn’t that kind of funny?”

Customer: “Oh, yes… I remember. Uh… that was me, actually.” *drives away sheepishly*

(Our photo developing machine requires regular water refills, which we get by filling a 20-liter jug in the staff room and carrying it across the large sales floor back to the machine. Most of the staff fill it halfway or use a trolley, but it’s much quicker to just fill it all the way and carry it, which is what I do.)

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am. I just need to squeeze past you for a moment.”

Customer: *sees me carrying the 20-liter jug* “Oh, my God! Do they make you carry that? That’s too heavy for a little girl like you!”

Me: “It’s fine, ma’am. It’s only 20 kilos, and I’m only carrying it across the store. If you could just move to one side of the aisle, I’ll be able to put it down soon, too.”

Customer: “But one of the boys should be doing that! A girl can’t carry all that! And you’re so tiny!”

Me: “Well, I actually do this pretty regularly, so I guess it doesn’t really matter if I’m a girl or—”

Customer: “Here!”

(Without warning, she slams both her hands into the bottom of the jug so it hits me in the face. The jug sloshes water all over me, the aisle, and the jug, making it very slippery, and leaves me both bruised and uncomfortable.)

Customer: “There! Now at least it’s a bit lighter.”

Me: *speechless*

Customer: “You’re welcome!”

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